


It's the Thought

by AstroGirl



Category: Venture Bros
Genre: F/M, Het, Pre-Canon
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2009-12-22
Updated: 2009-12-22
Packaged: 2017-10-05 01:00:31
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,038
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/36026
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/AstroGirl/pseuds/AstroGirl
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>The Monarch buys Dr. Girlfriend a birthday present.  As usual, she fails to conclude that she's too good for him.</p>
            </blockquote>





	It's the Thought

**Author's Note:**

  * For [Sandoz](https://archiveofourown.org/gifts?recipient=Sandoz).



> Rated "mature" for non-explicit het sex.

It's almost Dr. Girlfriend's birthday, and he's determined that he's not going to forget it again.  In his defense, last year they _were_ still in that awkward, "let's define the terms of our relationship" stage -- whatever _that_ means, exactly -- and he was really busy, what with arching, and working on his new costume, and trying to recruit minions, and tearing up all those letters from Phantom Limb accusing him of stealing silverware when he left his old henching job, and everything.  (That last, by the way, was a _vile lie_.  He never stole any silverware.  A couple of bottles from Limb's snooty wine cellar, maybe, but he figured he deserved it for putting up with the Phantom Dick that long.) 

Plus, he did make it up to her later, by taking her out for steak and mayhem.  Venture-related mayhem, even!  The very best kind!  Admittedly, she maybe seemed a little bored by the end of it, but, man, she looked smoking hot standing next to him there in the heat of battle, and he knew at that moment that this was absolutely the woman he wanted by his side.  So, that was pretty romantic.  Even if she did fall asleep in the car on the way home.

Anyway, this time, it will be different!  This time, they are totally a couple, not just two people who end up doing it in the back of his car anytime they get drunk.  Or bored.  Or stuck in the mud waiting for a tow truck.  This time, he wants to do it _right_.  He wants to pluck the moon from the sky and give it to her to use as a giant Frisbee!  He wants to hire choirs of angels to sing her praises!  He wants to offer her Venture's head on a plate.  A _silver_ plate, with little garlands of green stuff arranged around it in artistic patterns.

Unfortunately, none of that seems very practical.  What exactly _do_ women like?  He's never had to shop for one before.  Jewelry?  He doesn't know anything about jewelry.  What would go with that outfit, anyway?  Chocolates?  That just seems lame.  Death ray?  Do women find those romantic?

Think, he tells himself.  A gift.  For a woman.  How hard can that be?

Aha!  Got it! 

"Minions!" he cries, leaping to his feet.  "Come to me!  We-- " he pauses dramatically" --are going _shopping_!"

Two bedraggled, skinny men in wilted yellow wings rub their eyes and climb slowly to their feet.  He sighs.  Maybe for _his_ birthday, she'll get him a few more minions.

**

"Lingerie?" she says, pulling the garment out of the box.  He thinks he detects a note of disappointment in her voice, and his heart flutters in his chest like a dispirited butterfly.

"_Designer_ lingerie," he says, hopefully.  "It cost, like, a crapload of money.  I got it at this ridiculously upscale place.  They had a bunch of women there, right?  And they'd go, 'So, which one of these is about the same size as your girlfriend?'  And then they'd model it for you!  It was great!"  His voice falters as the look on her face tells him that possibly this is not entirely the correct thing to say.  He decides not to tell her how he got so excited that he darted the underwear model by accident and then had to shoot everyone, grab the goods, and make his escape through a window.  Even if it is kind of a funny story.  "You don't like it?"  His lip wobbles a bit.  Damn it!  _No one_ makes the Monarch's lip wobble!  At least, no one used to.  Ah, what a fool he's become for love.

Her face softens a little.  "It's lovely," she says.  "Really.  It's just..."  She sighs.  "I don't know.  It hasn't been all that long since I was wearing the Queen Etheria costume, you know?"

"The Queen--?"  He sputters.  "But this is totally different!"

She holds it up across her body and quirks an eyebrow at him.  OK, maybe it's not _that_ different.  It's certainly not any less revealing.  Or gauzy.  Or...  Oh, crap.  He vaguely remembers reassuring her back then that it wasn't the costume he was attracted to, too. 

Hold on.  Hold on.  He can salvage this.  Play it smooth, Monarch.  Play it smooth...

"It _is_ different," he says.  "You wore that for the world.  And the world didn't appreciate it!  But this..."  He gestures at the garment.  "This is just for _us_.  Our special... sex... thing."  Damn it.  He was doing pretty well there for a moment.  He tries to make up for the way that sentence ended by waggling his eyebrows fetchingly and rubbing his hand invitingly across the surface of the bed.

Somewhat to his surprise, this actually works.  "Oh, Monarch," she says, and a moment later she's kissing him.  With tongue.  Clearly, he does not know his own sexiness, but damn, he's glad he's got it.  He makes some happy, encouraging noises.  And goes on making them for quite a while.

**

"You never wore your gift," he says much later, and much more muzzily. 

"Never mind, honey," she says.  "It's the thought that counts."

 He leans over the side of the bed and locates the wadded-up lingerie.  "I think we got raspberry jam on it.  I hope that washes out."

"I'm sure it will."

"So... do you think maybe you can wear it on _my_ birthday?"

She seems to consider that for a while.  "Well, I was thinking of building you a death ray, but if you'd rather..."

He imagines zapping Venture with a super-cool death ray, and then imagines this woman lying in his bed, wearing a smile and a bit of gauze and singing "Happy Birthday" in that way-sexier-than-it-ought-to-be voice of hers.

"I'd rather," he says happily.

"Well, then.  Perhaps we'll make it a tradition." 

"What if we can't get the jam out?"

"I'm sure we'll think of something."  She kisses him.  "Go to sleep now, hmm?"

She doesn't need to tell him twice.  And even the really stupid, disturbing dreams involving vaguely phallic death rays and Dr. Venture in sexy lingerie don't stop him from waking up with a smile on his face.

It's good to be a supervillain in love.


End file.
